Lucid
by Boyue
Summary: After a tragic car accident, Damien struggles to keep his sanity as he is visited by Pip in his dreams. -Drama/Dip-


_South Park and its characters © Trey Parker and Matt Stone_

_Damien/Pip._

_Rated T for South Park language._

_Based on "The Sting", an episode in Futurama. If you have seen the episode, then enjoy. If you have not, then I HIGHLY recommend that you DO NOT watch or read up on it as that will ruin the twist. D:_

_Dedicated to the one and only Sydness.

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**LUCID

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**

"_Please tell me you are joking."_

"_C'mon, Dad, are you really asking that?"_

"_Damien…"_

"_I've already made up my mind."_

"_You are not serious, sweetheart. You can't be."_

"_Look at me, I am dead serious."_

"_You would be a mortal for him?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Baby…"_

"_I'd give up anything for Pip."_

"_Even your throne?"_

"_Even my life, Dad."

* * *

_

"Damien, wake up."

A soft kiss to the cheek stirs the anti-Christ out of his slumber. Or to be more accurate, the formal anti-Christ is the proper title now. His thick eyelashes flutter like butterfly wings, opening his eyes to the morning world. The first thing one should notice is that the crimson in Damien's eyes is gone, replaced by a dulling black. While they may be plain and ordinary in hue, they still hold the same ferocity as before. But it can be agreed on that red holds more intrigue for them. The second thing one should notice is that he has gotten a nice bit of color in him. Still paler than the average man, but he has shed the translucency so that he can pass for someone in a desperate need of a tan – a need that is difficult to fulfill in the lovely town of South Park. The third thing one probably won't notice but is worth mentioning is that the horns and the devilish tail – both rarely ever seen by any human eye – are gone with no trace that they ever actually existed. The fourth and the last thing one will notice definitely even if one has not been paying attention to the nature of the (ex) anti-Christ is that he is powerless. The ability to summon hellfire and call for his darling Cerberus is disabled. Hell – or is it heck – now Damien can barely make a sound when he snap his fingers. Whereas back in the olden days, a simple flick of his wrist would bring doom and suffering for all. The final conclusion for those who didn't care to read: Damien is mortal, through and through, so painfully mortal that he is struggling to bring his consciousness to its full wake.

"Damien, love, wake up."

Another soft peck to the cheek causes Damien to blink one tired eye. Sleep is troubling, he has learned. Once the brain shuts down for the night, it doesn't seem to want to wake in the morning. He misses the time when sleep was optional and not crucial to his brain functions. On the other hand, he certainly has no complaints against being woken up by the most beautiful voice and the most darling kisses. Back then, he was the one who stayed vigil and watched his precious Brit dream through the night. Nowadays, he finds it impossible to keep his eyes open once the clock strikes past midnight and he always wakes to a kiss on the cheek.

Or, if he still doesn't – as he currently isn't – he will find a gentle nip to his bottom lip and a whisper that beckons, "Love, you have to wake up."

Eyelids floated upward, Damien slowly drags his mind out of inactivity. He turns his head and lets out a childish groan. Then he rolls on his stomach and stretches out his body like the way his three-headed dog does. He almost lets out a purr when slender fingers scratch the back of his neck. The groan fades, quickly follows by a sly grin slapped on his half-asleep face. He looks up to the blond, still dressed in a black oversized t-shirt that belongs to him.

"Will you be up now?" Pip asks, nudging him in the forearm.

"Give me another kiss and I'll think about it."

"No bargaining," Pip pouts, wiggling his finger. "You are supposed to teach me how to drive today."

"Do I have to?" Damien whines, spreading himself out on the bed. He rolls on his side and supports himself up with an elbow. Eyes flash with coyness as he says, "I'd rather stay in bed and do something more productive."

"Damien! A promise is a promise, love. And a gentleman must keep true to his word."

"But I'm not a gentleman. I'm just a poor boy who doesn't know any better."

"Then it's about time you learn to be one! You shall start with getting out of bed at a proper time."

Damien falls on his back. The mattress squeaks under his weight as he maneuvers his body to face the digital clock. He points at the time. One may notice that his nails are round and smooth, rather than sharp and pointy. "It's ten o'clock on a Saturday morning. In America, we sleep in."

"Damien!" Pip crosses his arms over his chest and gives the sternest look he can muster. Frankly, furrowed eyebrows and a deep pout only make him more adorable in his lover's eyes.

Damien doesn't speak a word. He simply brings his index finger to his puckered lips and taps it twice. Pip scoffs with a roll of his eyes. He crawls over on his knees and leans forward. Damien lifts his hand to brush the silk-like blond strands behind Pip's ear as lips meet lips. His toned arms lock the Brit in his embrace, and he wastes no time in seductively grinding his hips upward. Pip squeaks at the movement and halfheartedly struggles to break free. The sneaky pierced tongue tries to invade his mouth. The Brit lets out a giggle of a protest. His fists push and pound playfully against broad chest. Damien seizes the hand drumming his ribcage and holds it high above their head, causing Pip to lean further on him. Another string of giggles come out of Pip before silence takes over as the lovers exchange passionate kisses. Rustling bed sheets and whiny mattress drown out the shy moans in between. Limbs intertwine in a naughty game of Twister. The morning sunlight shines through the window sill. It casts the room in a glow that makes both of them angelic in appearance, Pip especially. Their hands roam freely on their bodies, re-exploring skin and crevasse that are like the alphabet to them. Hair slips in the gaps between their fingers. A gentle pull here for a long kiss. A soft push there for a short one.

"Damien," Pip whispers when they break for air. Over the minutes, he has been displaced and is now gazing up at Damien from below. Ocean eyes fill with affection. A sweet smile hints his kiss-swollen lips.

"Yes, Pip?" Damien sighs dreamily. His fingers curl their way around Pip's hair.

"Get out of bed. Now."

Damien blinks, slightly stunned by the demand. Pip places one last kiss to his cheek before he bounces out of bed and makes his way to the bathroom. As for Damien, instead of getting out as instructed, he lingers between the warm sheets loaded with Pip's scent and listens to the rushing of the shower. He can just make out Pip's humming amidst the water. He sighs and presses his palm into the bed. He traces the fading imprint that Pip has made with his body. He runs the tip of his fingers over the neck, the shoulder, the slim waist, down to the slender legs. Even if Pip isn't physically there, his presence is embedded in the 200-thread count linen. Damien can feel it through his skin. He keeps going, skin gliding over the lavender fabric. The shower runs in the background.

* * *

Damien sneezes. He shoves his hands into the pocket of his coat and jogs anxiously in place. Having no body heat, he never fully understood how cold South Park was until his transformation. The second he opened the front door and stepped out in the snow, he immediately went back inside and turned up the heat as much as possible. It was established then that Damien does not like cold weather, thus making his disdain toward South Park that much higher. His proposal to move somewhere warmer, California for instance, falls on deaf ears. Pip likes the cold, believing that it makes snuggling more enjoyable.

Damien gazes down the barren road and checks it for condition. The streets in town are simply too crowded and filled with old drivers that make it dangerous for a new learner. Damien has decided that while the roads up in the mountains are narrower and trickier to get through, they are at least devoid of people. He bends down and runs his finger over the pavement of the road. It hasn't been snowing much lately, so the surface is not as slippery as it normally would be. It's not prime condition, but Damien figures it will have to make do. Pip has been begging to learn how to drive for months now and the weather has finally calmed down enough for even the most experienced drivers to navigate through town. Personally, Damien doesn't want to deal with waking up early, only to come out of the bathroom and find a snowstorm hailing down on South Park and a sad Pip looking out the window. Seize the day, the wise men always say, and that is what Damien is trying to do today.

He strolls back to the car, hands tucked away from the icy chills. He joins Pip to sit on the hood of the car, where a blanket handmade by Pip is laid out. Pip flashes a smile before he sips from his traveling mug of Earl Grey tea. Damien slings his arm over Pip and pulls him close. Pip offers the tea, but Damien shakes his head. He looks out over the view encompassing the tiny mountain town and smirks. South Park looks like a model city in a boy's forgotten toy chest – puny but filled with precious memories that they can no longer recall happened when. Some memories exist like it happened two minutes ago. Some memories exist so far down that it seems like lifetimes before. He turns his head to gaze down at Pip. His fingers rub Pip's shoulder, as if he is trying to make certain that Pip is real – that their love is real. That he hasn't thrown away his immortality for a figment of his imagination. He plants a kiss on Pip's forehead, an effort hindered only by the blond's bangs.

"Damien," Pip calls out after a dream-like sigh. "I love you."

Damien brushes the bangs out of the way and presses another kiss down. Wordlessly, he returns the sentiment. Not that Pip needs any reassurance. If he does not know how Damien feels about him by now, then Damien has failed miserably as an existence and deserves to be erased from the timeline of history. He would be smeared clean, like a smudge after a hearty spray of Windex!

"Will we always be together?" Pip leans his head on Damien's shoulder.

"Of course."

"Promise?"

"A gentleman's promise," Damien responds with a terrible British accent.

Pip chuckles and shakes his head disapprovingly. He tilts upward and receives a kiss to the tip of his nose. Damien inhales the Earl Grey from Pip's breath. His nose wrinkles at the smell, and he makes a disgusted noise. Pip only chuckles again and deliberately gulps his tea to spite Damien and to keep himself warm. Damien lowers his hand to Pip's wrist and playfully pokes him in the side. Pip wiggles but always finds himself glue to Damien by the hip.

"I can see our flat from here." Pip points.

"It's not a flat, Pip. It's an apartment. We aren't in England."

"Must you always tease me for my accent?" Pip huffs though there is no trace of anger.

"It's fun. It's like teasing Eric Cartman with a bag of Cheesy Poofs."

"Oh, Damien! I thought you've stopped doing that!"

"I have!" Damien says. "But it doesn't mean I don't watch the other guys do it. There is something very delightful in watching him beg for a treat. He kind of reminds me of Cerbby… except fatter. Much fatter."

Pip shifts and immediately, Damien tightens his hold on Pip's shoulder. Arms reach out and embrace the blond, pulling bodies closer together. Pip turns his face toward Damien's neck. He nuzzles against the skin. Damien dips his chin on the top of Pip's head. The hair tickles him, but he makes no motion to change their position. Pip strokes Damien's jaw. Damien turns into the caress, sighing softly with a mix of content and anguish.

"Damien… I wish you hadn't."

"What done is done, Pip."

"I wish you hadn't done it for me."

"Oh, please," Damien scoffs, "don't flatter yourself. I didn't do it for you. I did for myself." He squeezes his arms, causing Pip to cry out in surprise at the sudden pressure. "So I can be with you like this." Damien drops his head so that their cheeks touch. "Do you feel that?"

"Yes, you are warm. But, love, I wish…"

"And this?"

Damien breaks from the embrace. He unbuttons his winter coat, swings his scarf out of the way, and lifts up his turtleneck. He takes Pip's hand and guides it over his chest. He presses the hand against the heart muscle. Pip's smile melts. The full lips form a thin line. Damien scoots in until their foreheads kiss. He smiles, so infectious that a sweet smile graces Pip again.

"Do you feel that, Pip?"

The heart pounds under their clasped hands. Each beat pumps a dose of love that circulates through Damien's body. It makes his skin flush red with affection.

"I do," Pip says. He glides his fingers gingerly across Damien's chest. "I do."

"This," Damien whispers, keeping their hands together, "this is for you. Only for you."

"Always?"

"Forever and ever, Pipsqueak."

"Don't call me that! Just because you are unnaturally tall doesn't mean I am small."

Damien lets go of their hands. He fixes his shirt and wears his scarf properly again. He gets off the roof of the car. Standing, he adjusts his jeans while Pip sips from his mug. Without a warning or any indication, Damien lifts Pip off the car and swings him over his shoulder in a fireman carry. The blond yelps, startled and amused. His travel mug drops to the snow ground and rolls down the hill.

"Oh my! Damien! What are you doing!"

"Showing you what a pipsqueak you are."

Damien jogs about the area with Pip kicking and laughing over his shoulders. The travel mug rolls and rolls, leaving a trail of brown on the pure white snow until its stomach empties. Flakes descend from the sky above. Slowly, they erase the tea stain.

It has started to snow again.

* * *

"The right pedal is the gas, Pip."

"And the middle one is…?"

"The brake."

"And this one on the left?"

"That's just… I don't even know. It's a foot rest."

"Am I supposed to put my foot on it then?"

Damien shrugs in the passenger seat. He puts his feet up and leans back into the seat. While the snow has started to fall, he has decided – under the influence of Pip's persuading pout – that it can't hurt to let the Brit drive for a bit before the snow becomes a hindrance. He watches the road, attentive; his body reacts to every one of Pip's movement. An audible screech, he extends his hand and presses it against the airbag when Pip unintentionally slams on the brake.

"Oh my…!" Pip exclaims at the lurch forward. "I'm terribly sorry. I thought that was the gas."

"Right pedal, Pip. And use your right foot on the brake, not your left."

The car hesitantly moves forward like a toddler making his first steps. Pip's fingers curl around the steering wheel, choking the life out of the leather. Damien reaches over and dusts a small leaf out of Pip's hair. Pip flinches at the touch; the car gushes like a horse out of the gate when Pip's foot instinctively reacts. Damien's heart might have skipped a few beats. A frown overtakes his brows. It might have only been his imagination but it feels like the car has skidded even after Pip steps on the brake. He looks over to the blond. Pip's lips quiver, yet they form a proud smile. The genuine excitement in the blond's façade is unmistakable as the vehicle obeys the command of his foot. It might even be said there is a bit of power swimming in the ocean eyes.

"Sorry! Sorry!"

"Pip, stop the car."

"But Damien," Pip immediately protests, "it hasn't even been ten minutes yet. Can't I go a little further?"

"The road is too slippery," Damien explains, gazing out as his breath fogs the window. A lump of snow falls from a tree top. A snowshoe hare hops out of sight to avoid the drop. Damien watches something leap between the white bushes before he turns his eyes back to the road. "Pull over here."

"Damien," Pip whines. "Just a little longer, please."

Damien groans and shakes his head. Pip looks at him for a short moment, pleading with his eyes, before he draws his attention back to the road. Nuggets of snow litter the pavement like gold in a Californian river. Damien sits properly. He studies Pip's profile, understands the determination on the pouted lips, and sighs in defeat. He points at a curve down the road that's barren of snow and scrubs – a perfect place to pull to a stop and far enough that Pip can't complain.

"You can drive right until that curve."

"Damien, love…!"

"Until that curve!"

Pip huffs his shoulder but does not make a point to argue. He lifts his foot from the gas pedal and lets the car drag like a tired turtle. Damien resists the urge to smack his face.

"Pip."

"Hmph."

"C'mon."

"I'm driving."

Damien leans over the armrest and presses a hard kiss on the shell of Pip's ear. Pip squirms from the touch, his lips taut. Damien puts his hand over Pip's on the steering wheel and gives it a small turn, hoping the blond will obey. To his surprise, Pip fights the wheel back. The car swerves hard to the right. Damien nearly slams into the car door. Pip jolts at the impact. Guilt immediately paints his face.

"Sorry, love…"

"Stop mucking about," Damien scolds in that faux accent again. "We've got places to go, mate!"

"No more accents please," Pip chuckles, "you sound like a git."

Damien readjusts on the seat. He buckles his seatbelt just in case and leans into a more comfortable position. His eyes are still on Pip, who turns and looks back at him with a smile as the car slowly crawls toward the curve. They stare for a brief moment, neither willing to give in. Until Pip lifts his index finger and taps his lips twice. Damien bellows out an amused laugh, nodding his head in understanding. He moves over as much as the seatbelt will permit him, and Pip meets him half-way. They exchange tenderness; their eyes closing as lips come together. As they pull away, they both grin. Pip steps on the gas pedal before he fully turns back to face the road. The car accelerates, going faster than before, faster than it should for a learning driver, faster than it should on a mushy snow day. The vehicle transforms from the turtle to the hare and speeds to the finish.

Or it should have.

Pip is the first one to scream. When Damien snaps his head forward, it is already not out of voluntary control. He only catches the deer in passing – a deer that seems to have appeared out of nowhere – before Pip pulls the wheel as fast and as hard as he can. The car dodges out of the way, skidding toward the side. It all seems safe for a short second. Damien even breathes during that second. Then, the deer, bewildered and not knowing where to escape, chooses so poorly to run in front as the car goes out of its lane. Pip must have mistaken the pedals again in the panic. The car increases in speed instead of slowing down. It hits the deer right on and flips the animal up over the hood. The deer yelps but it is drowned out by Pip. The deer's antlers puncture through the windshield at the impact. The glass shatters. The deer slides into the front seats; its blood splatters on the upholstery. One antler misses Pip by an inch, while the other rams right into Damien's chest. The air knocked out of his lungs, Damien's vision blurs, like he is halfway between wake and sleep.

It has been neglected to mention that another one should also notice that Damien now has gained the ability to feel physical pain. If it is a blessing or a curse, it is left to be debated. At the current moment, his nerves contract, a chill rushes down his spine, as the sharp antler rips a slit through his coat. Broken shards rain over them, cutting into his flesh. He moves his wrist, somehow under the delusion that he has the power to stop the car from careening into the snow-covered trees ahead of them. His hand does nothing. The car goes and goes until it drives into the thick trunk like a siege ram. The snow atop the tree falls to bury the half of the deer that still sticks out on the car roof. The engine sputters, kicking to last a little longer, but it fails to get started again. Without the car engine roaring, it's quiet, all quiet except for raspy and whimpering gasps.

Damien fights to get air through his nose, only to find red fluid dripping out of his nostrils. He inhales through his mouth, the taste of copper heavy on his tongue. He hisses in pain as he tries to locate his arms, tries to remember which nerves control which limbs. The antler keeps him pinned, hindering the expansion of his ribcage. The cold air rushes in through the missing windshield. Damien shudders, lips quivering into purple.

"P-Pip…?" he calls out, breathless, eyes barely open.

Pip manages to move his head. Blood – like an unholy waterfall – cascades down his face. He wears a half-hearted smile, his weak hand reaches. Damien extends his own hand. They intertwine their fingers, locks them as tightly as they can. A reassurance that they are both conscious. That they are both still alive.

"Damien," Pip whispers, blood dripping into his mouth, "p-please… don't let go..."

"I won't. I won't..."

"Damien…" Pip chokes.

"Pip. Keep your eyes open. Keep them open. Pip!"

As if on cue, Pip's blue eyes dull as the eyelids fall like a shroud. Damien shakes their hands. He grits his teeth, shoving down a scream loaded in his throat. He tries to push the antler off him. He tries to unbuckle the tangled seatbelt. He tries to lean over the dead deer taking up space in the front seat. He tries to touch Pip, tries to touch that angelic face that's paling by the millisecond.

"Pip," Damien calls out, "Pip…! P-Pip! O-open your eyes…! Pip… Pip…"

His voice fades. He slumps forward and folds over the antler, preventing oxygen into his lungs even more. Weariness washes over his bruised body. His lips whisper Pip's name before unconsciousness takes over.

"Wake up."

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED…

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**

_Boyue's Note: I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE THIS. D8_

_07.21.10_

_9:01 PM_


End file.
